AWAY! thou changeling motely humourist; Leave me, and in this standing wooden cheft, Conforted with thefe few books, let me lie In prifon, and here be coffin'd when I die. Here are God's conduits, grave divines; and here Is nature's fecretary, the philofopher; And wily statefmen, which teach how to tye The finews of a city's myftic body; Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand Giddy fantastic poets of each land. Shall I leave all this conftant company, And follow headlong wild uncertain thee? Firft fwear by thy best love, here in earnest, (If thou which lov'ft all canft love any best) Thou wilt not leave me in the middle freet, Though fome more fpruce companion thou doft meet;
Not though a captain do come in thy way Bright parcel gilt, with forty dead men's pay; Not though a brifk perfum'd pert courtier Deign with a nod thy courtefie to answer; Nor come a velvet juftice with a long Great train of blew-coats, twelve or fourteen strong, Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare A fpeech to court his beauteous fon and heir? For better or worfe take me or leave me ; To take and leave me is adultery. Oh, monftrous! fuperftitious Puritan, Of refin'd manners, yet ceremonial man! That when thou meet'ft one with i quiring eyes Doth fearch, and, like a needy broker, prize The filk and gold he wears, and to that rate, So high or low, doft raise the formal hat; That wilt confort none till thou have known What lands he hath in hope, or of his own; As though all thy companions fhould make thee Jointures, and marry thy dear company; Why shouldft thou (that doft not only approve, But in rank itchy luft defire and love, The nakednefs and barrennefs t' enjoy
Of thy plump muddy whore or prostitute boy)
Hate Virtue, though the naked be and bare? At birth and death our bodies naked are; And till our fouls be unapparelled
Of bodies they from blifs are banished. Man's first bleft state was naked; when by fin He loft that, he was cloth'd but in beast's skin, And in this coarse attire, which I now wear, With God and with the Muses I confer. But fince thou, like a contrite penitent, Charitably warn'd of thy fins, doft repent Thefe vanities and giddineffes, lo
I fhut my chamber door, and come, let's go. But fooner may a cheap whore, who hath been Worn out by as many feveral men in fin As are black feathers or mufk-colour'd hofe, Name her child's right true father 'mongst all thofe;
Sooner may one guefs who fhall bear away The infantry of London hence to India; And fooner may a gulling weather-spy, By drawing forth heav'n's fcheme, tell certainly What fashion'd hats, or ruffs, or fuits, next year Our giddy-headed antick youth will wear, Than thou, when thou depart'ft from me, can fhow Whither, why, when, or with whom, thou wouldft
But to a grave man he doth move no more Than the wife politic horfe would heretofore; Or thou, O elephant or ape! wilt do, When any names the King of Spain to you.
Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, Do you fee
Yonder well-favour'd youth? Which? Oh! 'tis he That dances fo divinely. Oh! said I,
Stand ftill; muft you dance here for company? He droop'd, we went, till one (which did excel Th' Indians in drinking his tobacco well) Met us they talk'd; I whifper'd, Let us go; It may be you smell him not; truly I do. He hears not me; but on the other fide A many-colour'd peacock having spy'd, Leaves him and me: I for my loft sheep flay; He follows, overtakes, goes on the way, Saying, Him whom I laft left all repute For his device in handfoming a fuit; To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut and plait, Of all the court to have the best conceit : Our dull commedians want him; let him go: But, oh God ftrengthen thee; why stoop'st thou fo?
Why, he hath travail'd long; no, but to me Which understood none, he doth feem to be Perfect French and Italian. I reply'd, So is the pox. He anfwer'd not, but spy'd More men of fort, of parts and qualities, At laft his love he in a window fpies, And like light dew exhal'd he flings from me, Violently ravish'd to his lechery.
Many there were he could command no more; He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and, turn'd out of door,
Diredly came to me, hanging the head, And conftantly a while muft keep his bed.
SIR, though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state In all ill things fo excellently beft,
That hate towards them breeds pity towards the reft.
Though poetry indeed be fuch a fin
As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in; Though, like the peftilence and old-fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove Never till it be starv'd out; yet their flate Is poor, difarm'd, like Papifts, not worth hate: 'One (like a wretch, which at bar judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which ftands next, and cannot read,
And faves his life) gives idiot actors means, (Starving himfelf) to live by's labour'd fcenes; As in fome organs puppits dance above, And bellows pant below which them do move. One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's charms
Bring not now their old fears nor their old harms. Rams and flings now are filly battery; Piftolets are the beft artillery:
And they who write to lords, rewards to get, Are they not like fingers at doors for meat? And they who write, because all write, have still Th' excufe for writing, and for writing ill. But he is worst who beggarly) doth chaw Others' wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw Rankly digefted, doth those things out-spue As his own things: and they're his own, 'tis true, For if one eat my meat, though it be known The meat was mine, th' excrement is his own. But thefe do me no harm, nor they which use To out-do dildoes and out-ufure Jews, T'out-drink the fea, t' out-fwear the Litany, Who with fins all kinds as familiar be As confeffors, and for whofe finful fake Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make; Whole ftrange fins canonifts could hardly tell In which commandment's large receit they dwell, But these punish themselves. The infolence Of Cofcus only breeds my just offence, Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox, And plodding on must make a calf an ox) Hath made a lawyer, which (alas!) of late But fcarce a poet, jollier of this fstate Than are new benefic'd minifters; he throws, Like nets or lime-twigs, wherefoe'er he goes, His title of Barrister on every wench, And woos in language of the Pleas and Bench. A motion, Lady! Speak, Cofcus. I have been In love e'er fince tricefimo of the Queen. Continual claims I've made, injunctions got To ftay my rival's fuit, that he should not Proceed; fpare me, in Hillary term I went; You faid, if I return'd next 'fize in Lent, I fhould be in remitter of your grace; In th' interim my letters fhould take place Of affidavits. Words, words, which would tear The tender labyrinth of a maid's soft ear More, more than ten Sclavonians fcoldings, more Than when winds in our ruin'd abbys rore. When fick with poetry, and poffeft with Muse Thou waft, and mad, I hop'd; but men which choose Law-practice for mere gain, bold fouls repute Worfe than imbrothell'd trumpets prostitute. Now like an owl-like watchman he must walk, His hand fill at a bill; now he must talk Idly, like prifoners, which whole months will fwear
That only furetyfhip hath brought them there, And to every fuitor lie in every thing, Like a king's favourite, or like a king; Like a wedge in a block wring to the bar, Bearing like affes and more thameless far Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge; for Baftardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor Simony and Sodomy in churchmen's lives, As these things do in him; by thefe he thrives. Shortly (as th' fea, he'll compaís all the land, From co sto Wight, from Mount to Dover Strand, And fpying heirs melting with luxury, Satan will not joy at their fins as he : For (as a thrifty wench fcrapes kitching-tuff, And barrelling the droppings and the fnuff Of washing candles which in thirty year (Reliquely kept) perchance Luys wedding chear)
AWAY! thou changeling motely humourist; Leave me, and in this standing wooden cheft, Conforted with these few books, let me lie In prison, and here be coffin'd when I die. Here are God's conduits, grave divines; and here Is nature's fecretary, the philofopher; And wily ftatefmen, which teach how to tye The finews of a city's myftic body; Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand Giddy fantaftic poets of each land. Shall I leave all this conftant company, And follow headlong wild uncertain thee? Firft fwear by thy beft love, here in earnest, (If thou which lov'ft all canft love any beft) Thou wilt not leave me in the middle ftreet, Though fome more fpruce companion thou doft
Not though a captain do come in thy way Bright parcel gilt, with forty dead men's pay; Not though a brifk perfum'd pert courtier Deign with a nod thy courtefie to answer; Nor come a velvet juftice with a long Great train of blew-coats, twelve or fourteen strong, Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare A fpeech to court his beauteous fon and heir? For better or worfe take me or leave me ; To take and leave me is adultery. Oh, monftrous! fuperftitious Puritan, Of refin'd manners, yet ceremonial man! That when thou meet'ft one with iquiring eyes Doth fearch, and, like a needy broker, prize The filk and gold he wears, and to that rate, So high or low, doft raise the formal hat; That wilt confort none till thou have known What lands he hath in hope, or of his own; As though all thy companions fhould make thee Jointures, and marry thy dear company; Why shouldft thou (that doft not only approve, But in rank itchy luft defire and love, The nakedness and barrennefs t' enjoy Of thy plump muddy whore or prostitute boy)
Hate Virtue, though the naked be and bare? At birth and death our bodies naked are; And till our fouls be unapparelled
Of bodies they from blifs are banished. Man's first bleft ftate was naked; when by fin He loft that, he was cloth'd but in beast's skin, And in this coarfe attire, which I now wear, With God and with the Mufes I confer. But fince thou, like a contrite penitent, Charitably warn'd of thy fins, doft repent Thefe vanities and giddineffes, lo
I fhut my chamber door, and come, let's go. But fooner may a cheap whore, who hath been Worn out by as many feveral men in fin As are black feathers or musk-colour'd hofe, Name her child's right true father 'mongst all thofe;
Sooner may one guess who shall bear away The infantry of London hence to India; And fooner may a gulling weather-fpy, By drawing forth heav'n's (cheme, tell certainly What fashion'd hats, or ruffs, or fuits, next year Our giddy-headed antick youth will wear, Than thou, when thou depart'st from me, can fhow Whither, why, when, or with whom, thou wouldst
But how fhall I be pardon'd my offence, That thus have finn'd againft my conscience? Now we are in the ftreet; he first of all, Improvidently proud, creeps to the wall, And fo imprifon'd and hemm'd in by me, Sells for a little flate his liberty;
Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet Every fine filken painted fool we meet, He them to him with amorous fmiles allures, And grins, fmacks, fhrugs, and fuch an itch en- dures
As 'prentices or fchool-boys, which do know Of fome gay sport abroad, yet dare not go; And as fiddlers stoop lowest at highest found, So to the most brave ftoops he night the ground;
But to a grave man he doth move no more Than the wife politic horfe would heretofore; Or thou, O elephant or ape! wilt do, When any names the King of Spain to you.
Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, Do you
Yonder well-favour'd youth? Which? Oh! 'tis he That dances fo divinely. Oh! said I,
Stand still; muft you dance here for company? He droop'd, we went, till one (which did excel Th' Indians in drinking his tobacco well) Met as they talk'd; I whisper'd, Let us go; It may be you smell him not; truly I do. He hears net me; but on the other fide A many-colour'd peacock having fpy'd, Leaves him and me: I for my loft sheep flay; He follows, overtakes, goes on the way, Saying, Him whom I laft left all repute For his device in handsoming a fuit;
To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut and plait, Of all the court to have the best conceit : Our dull commedians want him; let him go: But, ch: God ftrengthen thee; why ftoop'st thou To?
Why, he hath travail'd long; no, but to me Which understood none, he doth feem to be Perfect French and Italian. I reply'd, So is the pox. He answer'd not, but fpy'd Mere men of fort, of parts and qualities, At laft his love he in a window Ipies,
And like light dew exhal'd he flings from me, Viciently ravish'd to his lechery.
Many there were he could command no more; He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and, turn'd out of door,
Diredly came to me, hanging the head, And conftantly a while muft keep his bed.
Su, though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state la all ill things fo excellently beft,
That hate towards them breeds pity towards the reft.
Though poetry indeed be fuch a fin
As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in; Though, like the peftilence and old-fashion'd love, Ridingly it catch men, and doth remove Never till it be starv'd out; yet their flate Is poor, difarm'd, like Papifts, not worth hate : One (like a wretch, which at bar judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which ftands next, and cannot read,
And faves his life) gives idiot actors means, (Starving himself) to live by's labour'd scenes; Asin fome organs puppits dance above,
And bellows pant below which them do move. One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's
Bring not now their old fears nor their old harms. Rams and flings now are filly battery; Filolets are the best artillery:
And they who write to lords, rewards to get, Are they not like fingers at doors for meat? And they who write, becaufe all write, have still Th' excufe for writing, and for writing ill. But he is worst who (beggarly) doth chaw Others' wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw Rankly digested, doth those things out-fpue As his own things: and they're his own, 'tis true, For if one eat my meat, though it be known The meat was mine, th' excrement is his own. But thefe do me no harm, nor they which use To out-do dildoes and out-ufure Jews, T' out-drink the fea, t' out-fwear the Litany, Who with fins all kinds as familiar be As confeffors, and for whose finful fake Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make ; Whole ftrange fins canonifts could hardly tell In which commandment's large receit they dwell, But thefe punish themselves. The infolence Of Cofcus only breeds my juft offence, Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox, And plodding on must make a calf an ox) Hath made a lawyer, which (alas!) of late But fcarce a poet, jollier of this ftate Than are new benefic'd minifters; he throws, Like nets or lime-twigs, wherefoe'er he goes, His title of Barrister on every wench, And woos in language of the Pleas and Bench. A motion, Lady! Speak, Cofcus. I have been In love e'er fince tricefimo of the Queen. Continual claims I've made, injunctions got To ftay my rival's fuit, that he fhould not Proceed; fpare me, in Hillary term I went; You faid, if I return'd next 'fize in Lent, I fhould be in remitter of your grace; In th' interim my letters fhould take place Of affidavits. Words, words, which would tear The tender labyrinth of a maid's foft ear More, more than ten Sclavonians fcoldings, more Than when winds in our ruin'd abbys rore. When fick with poetry, and poffeft with Muse Thou waft, and mad, I hop'd; but men which choofe Law-practice for mere gain, bold fouls repute Worfe than imbrothell'd trumpets prostitute. Now like an owl-like watchman he must walk, His hand fill at a bill; now he must talk Idly, like prifoners, which whole months wi fwear
That only furetyship hath brought them there, And to every fuitor lie in every thing, Like a king's favourite, or like a king; Like a wedge in a block wring to the bar, Bearing like affes and more thameless far Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge; for Baftardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor Simony and Sodomy in churchmen's lives, As these things do in him; by thefe he thrives. Shortly (as th' fea, he'll compaís all the land, From Scost Wight, from Mount to Dover Strand, And fpying heirs melti 'g with luxury, Satan will not joy at their fins as he : For (as a thrifty wench icrapes kitching-ftuff, And barrelling the droppings and the inuff Of was Cadles which in thirt, year (Reliquely kept) perchance buys wedding chear)
Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time Wringing each acre as maids pulling prime. In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws Affurances big as glofs'd Civil laws;
So huge, that men (in our time's forwardness) Are fathers of the church for writing less. These he writes not, nor for these written pays, Therefore fpares no length, (as in those first days, When Luther was profeft, he did defire Short Pater-nofters, faying, as a friar, Each day his beads: but having left thofe laws,, Adds to Chrift's prayer the power and glory claufe)
But when he fells or changes land, h' impairs His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out fes beires, And flily, as any commenter, goes by Hard words or fenfe; or in divinity As controverters in vouch'd texts leave out Shrewd words, which might against them clear the doubt.
Where are those spread woods which cloth'd here
[door. Thofe bought lands? not built, nor burnt within Where the old landlord's troops and alms? In halls Carthufian fafts and fulfome Bacchanals Equally I hate. Mean's bleft. In rich men's homes I bid kill fome beasts, but no hecatombs ; None starve, none furfeit fo. But (oh) w' allow Good works as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws
Within the vast reach of th' huge ftatute-laws.
KIND pity checks my fpleen; brave scorn forbids Thofe tears to iffue which fwell my eye-lids. I must not laugh nor weep fins, but be wife: Can railing then cure there worn maladies? Is not our mistress, fair Religion, As worthy of our fouls' devotion As virtue was to the first blinded age? Are not heaven's joys as valiant to affuage Lufts as earth's honour was to them? Alas! As we do them in means, fhall they surpass Us in the end? and fhall thy father's fpirit Meet blind philofophers in heav'n, whose merit Of strict life may b'imputed faith, and hear Thee, whom he taught fo eafe ways and near To follow, damn'd? Oh! if thou dar'ft, fear this: This fear great courage and high valour is
Which cries not Goddess! to thy mistress, draw Or eat thy poisonous words? courage of ftraw! O defperate coward! wilt thou seem bold, and To thy focs and his (who made thee to stand Centinel in this world's garrifon) thus yield, And for forbid wars leave th' appointed field? Know thy foes: the foul devil (he whom thou Striv'ft to please) for hate, not love, would allow Thee fain his whole realm to be quit; and as The world's all parts wither away and pass, So the world's felf, thy other lov'd foe, is In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this Doft love a withered and worn ftrumpet laft; Flesh (itself's death) and joys, which flesh can taste, Thou lov'ft; and thy fair goodly foul, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou doft loath. Seek true religion. O where Mirreus, Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us, Seeks her at Rome; there, because he doth know That she was there a thousand years ago. He loves the raggs fo, as we here obey The state-cloth where the prince fate yefterday. Grants to fuch brave loves will not be inthrall'd, But loves her only who at Geneva is call'd Religion, plain, fimple, fullen, young, Contemptuous, yet unhandfome; as among Lecherous humours there is one that judges No wenches wholesome but coarfe country drudges. Grajus ftays ftill at home here; and because Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws Still new like fashions, bid him think that the Which dwells with us is only perfect, he Embraceth her whom his godfathers will Tender to him, being tender; as wards ftill Take fuch wives as their guardians offer, or Pay values. Careless Phrygius doth abhor All, because all cannot be good; as one Knowing fome women whores dares marry none: Gracchus loves all as one, and thinks that fo As women do in diverfe countries go In diverfe habits, yet are ftill one kind, So doth, fo is Religion; and this blind- Nefs too much light breeds. But unmoved thou Of force muft one, and forc'd but one, allow, And the right; afk thy father which is fhe; Let him afk this. Though Truth and Falsehood be Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is: Be bufie to feek her; believe me this, He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best. T'adore or fcorn an image, or protest, May all be bad. Doubt wifely. In ftrange way To ftand inquiring right is not to ftray; To fleep or run wrong is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth ftands; and he that will
Dar't thou aid mutinous Dutch? and dar'ft thou Reach her about muft, and about it, go,
Thee in fhips' wooden fepulchres, a prey To leader's rage, to ftorms, to fhot, to dearth? Dar'ft thou dive feas, and dungeons of the earth? Haft thou courageous fire to thaw the ice Of frozen north-difcoveries, and thrice Colder than falamanders! like divine Children in th' oven, fires of Spain and the line, Whofe countries limbecks to our bodies be, Canft thou for gain bear? and must every he
And what the hill's fuddennefs refifts win fo. Yet ftrive fo that before age, death's twilight, Thy foul reft; for none can work in that night. To will implies delay, therefore now do: Hard deeds the body's pains; hard knowledge to The mind's endeavours reach; and myfteries Are like the fun, dazzling, yet plain t' all eyes. Keep the truth which thou hast found; men de not ftand
In fo ill cafe, that God hath with his hand
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